The Closer You Get (4 page)

Typical Bud, teasing her like the big brother she’d always
wished for. “Liar.”

“You’ve got to be lying, Bud,” Pat said. “I can’t believe
anyone with eyes like that would even know a dirty joke.”

“I resent that,” Cammie said. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t
mean I can’t handle a few off-color jokes now and then. You boys have a lot to
learn.”

Bull scratched his head. “I can tell.”

“Where’s Brett?” Rusty asked.

“Still inside the coliseum,” Cammie said, not bothering to hide
her disdain. “It seems he’s tied up with a female fan at the moment. He informed
me he needed half an hour to do whatever.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Cammie,” Bud said as she returned to
the living area. “You’ll be seeing this every now and then.”

Her scorn came out in an acid look aimed at Bud. “Oh, really? I
hope he practices safe sex. And I hope he can work jail into his schedule
because this particular little blonde groupie looked to be a minor.”

“You don’t have to worry about Brett,” Rusty said. “He’s real
careful about things. And she’s got to be of age. That’s the rules.”

Rules. How nice. Perhaps she could see a list of the
rules
in case she might be required to screen Brett
Taylor’s women. That would be a really frigid day in hell. Four weeks could be a
very long time if she had to tolerate this kind of behavior. Of course, she
didn’t expect him to live like a monk, but she’d never approved of
indiscriminate sex. And like so many people, she had once held performers in
very high esteem. But through painful personal experience she’d discovered they
were imperfect, just like everyone else. She’d honestly hoped Brett Taylor was
somehow different. Wrong again.

The guys soon left to board the other bus, with the exception
of Pat, who dropped down onto the chair opposite the sofa and crossed his legs
at the ankles. He gestured toward the space next to Bud. “Take a load off,
Cammie, because this could take a while.”

She’d rather wait outside, but out of the need to prove she
could handle all aspects of life on the road—the good, bad and questionable—she
claimed a place on the couch.

“I know what you’re thinking about Brett,” Pat began. “But this
hasn’t happened in a real long time. Sometimes a man just needs someone to
hold.”

Cammie sipped the soda, hoping to alleviate the bitter taste in
her mouth. “I’m sure that’s true, but I’d think road sex would get old.”

“Like I said, it doesn’t happen very often,” Pat said. “Right,
Bud?”

“Right. Brett usually stays to himself while he’s touring. He’s
never been the same since—”

Bud and Pat exchanged a look but remained silent.

She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Since what, Bud?”

“Should I tell her?” Bud asked when Pat failed to speak.

“Might make things easier to understand,” Pat said. “As long as
she also understands it can’t go any farther than this bus.”

Could the conversation be more confusing? “You can trust me to
keep my mouth shut, so just spill it.”

Bud shifted several times in his seat as if the whole subject
made him uncomfortable. “Brett was married once a long time ago. They were both
young and his wife wasn’t too keen on the touring. She pretty much left him high
and dry without any warning, right about the time he signed with the record
company.”

Cammie couldn’t mask her surprise. “I’ve never heard that
story.”

“Not many people have,” Pat said. “His manager’s tried hard to
keep it under wraps. Brett’s a real private person.”

Cammie couldn’t let it go without one more question. “Did he
have a fondness for groupies back when he was married?”

Bud patted her leg. “No, Cam. When Brett started out, Jana was
on board the bus every night along with the rest of the band. He never cheated
on her.”

That would be new and different. Cammie put away her sarcasm
for the time being. “You’re saying he’s never gotten over it?”

Pat rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Not really. The night when we
were celebrating his first album going platinum, he had too much to drink and he
told me he nearly gave up on his music when Jana left him. Many a man probably
would have, but Brett threw his grief into his songs.”

That much Cammie could understand. All of it. First, suffering
the loss of her parents. Later, being left alone with a trampled heart,
compliments of an aspiring singer with a penchant for booze and wild women.
Composing songs had proven to be great therapy.

“Most of the time Brett’s okay to be around,” Bud added. “But
those times when he reaches a dead spot in his writing, that’s when he gets
really hard to live with.”

Pat got up to retrieve a beer from the refrigerator and a
mangled bag of corn chips from the cabinet. He sat back down and took a swig of
the brew, grabbed a few chips, then passed the bag to Cammie. “It’s been better
since Tim, Brett’s manager, convinced him to look for new writers for his
material. It’s taken the pressure off but he still prefers to write his own
songs. And he’s real good at it.”

“Do you still write?” Bud asked Cammie after taking a generous
handful of the snack that she’d declined.

He could have gone all year without mentioning that. “Not
lately.”

Pat looked at her curiously. “You write songs?”

“I was a music major in college, but songwriting is just a
hobby. I’ve never been that great.”

“Don’t let this gal fool you, Pat,” Bud said. “She’s written
some good material and she can sing like an angel. She’s got as much if not more
range than a lot of the female country-music performers today.”

Good old Bud, always her champion. “I prefer classical to
country music, Bud.”

“You write damn good music,” Bud said, his words barely
discernable over major crunching sounds. “Whatever you want to call it.”

A subject change was definitely in order. “So how long has it
been since lover boy’s been gone?”

Pat consulted his watch. “About fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes down, who knew how many more to go? Oh,
joy.

A short time later, the door opened and the star strode into
the cabin, looking as if he’d lost his best friend. “I’m ready to get on the
road, so let’s go.”

“That didn’t take long,” Pat said. “But I guess that’s what
happens when a man does without for too long, then hooks up with a fresh, young
thing.”

Brett nailed Cammie in place with a scowl. “That fresh, young
thing happens to be my cousin.”

Bud barked out a laugh. “Kissing cousin?”

“You can kiss my ass, Bud.” Brett sent Cammie a surprisingly
apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“This is ridiculous,” Cammie said as she stood to leave. But
before she made a quick exit, she turned back to the group and settled her gaze
on Brett. “If you’re through taking care of all
outstanding
business aside from the shower, I’m going to do a quick check on the bus
so we can get out of here before dawn.”

Once outside, Cammie breathed in the cool, crisp air and found
the change of scenery did her a world of good. Even the smell of diesel was less
oppressive than the testosterone parade going on inside.

She walked to the rear of the bus and lifted the hatch to
aimlessly examine the inner workings as well as her opinion of Brett Taylor.
Maybe he’d been telling the truth—the girl was a cousin. Maybe he was different.
Maybe she should check back into reality. Regardless of his apparently
devastating divorce, men like Brett Taylor reveled in female adoration and took
supreme advantage of it. They could sleep their way across the country without
giving it a second thought. They could discard a woman’s feelings at the drop of
a cowboy hat and―

“Is it going to make it to the next stop?”

The voice was as deep and clear as the night sky and held a
touch of amusement. She looked up at the tall figure silhouetted against the
halogen guard light to see the man she’d just burned in effigy hovering over
her. She turned back to the engine and randomly tugged at a wire. “Considering
the low mileage on this monster, I imagine it will make the trip with no
problem. At least I hope so. My fragile little female feet might not be able to
handle walking.”

“I don’t think anyone would consider you fragile, especially
with you hunkered down in front of an engine.”

Cammie straightened, faced him and fanned away a persistent
moth. If only she could dismiss him as easily. “Obviously you think I have
fragile ears.”

“We’re just trying to clean it up a little.” Brett rubbed his
jaw and studied her a long moment. “By the way, Bud just told me you sing.”

She rolled her eyes. “I might have to kill him.”

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t sung in years. Wish he’d let it go.”

“But he says you’re good.”

“Bud’s biased.”

“I kind of gathered that.” He took off his hat and forked a
hand through his dark hair. “What’s the deal with you and Bud? You two seem
pretty close.”

Cammie blew out a frustrated breath. “He’s like a brother to
me. Before he came to work for you, he was a driver for my grandfather’s charter
business. He’s known me since I was in junior high.”

He settled the hat back on his head and sent her a cynical
smile. “If you say so.”

“I say so, and I need to finish up here.” She crouched down to
check the oil, hoping he’d take the hint and go away.

“That’s the biggest dipstick I’ve ever seen,” he said as he
continued to loom over her. “Except for maybe Bull.”

Cammie couldn’t help but smile even though she really didn’t
want to encourage him. After shoving the metal rod back in place, she stood and
slammed down the hatch, then turned back to him. “All through and ready to go.
Unless you’re expecting another
cousin
.”

His grin deepened. “Nope. Just me, you and the boys.”

Either she was imagining things, or he’d somehow moved closer.
She leaned back against the bus, feeling more than a little crowded and very
conscious of his charisma.

He surveyed her face with eyes that looked incandescent, even
in the dim light. “I take it you didn’t like what you saw backstage.”

A definite understatement. “It’s really none of my business
what you do in your spare time.”

“But you don’t approve.”

He was too close for her comfort, but she couldn’t move without
bumping into him. “What I think about your exploits shouldn’t matter to
you.”

“It does.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I just think since we’re going to be spending a lot of time
together, we should have an understanding about some things.”

“Look, if you’re waiting for me to say I approve of
indiscriminate sex, then you’ll be standing here all night.”

“Sometimes it’s part of the life.”

“It’s a choice. And men who choose it are on the bottom of my
list.”

Brett took a step back and frowned. “Guess I’m treading on
shaky ground here. What was his name?”

She feared Bud had revealed more than just her singing
abilities. “Excuse me?”

“The man who stomped on your heart...what’s his name?”

“What makes you think this has to do with some man?”

He had the gall to grin. “I can spot a wounded female from a
mile away.”

“I’m sure you can since you’ve probably left casualties all
over the country.”

His amused look faded into a solemn expression. “They always
know going in that it’s only for an hour or so, not forever.”

How well she knew that concept. And how crass for him to admit
it. “Do you include an autograph with your hour of undivided attention?”

He narrowed his eyes and nailed her with one heck of a
smoldering look. “You don’t want my autograph, do you, Camille?”

Brett Taylor was the worst kind of danger, and she wouldn’t
fall into that trap again. She moved around him and grabbed the rag she’d tossed
on the ground before facing him again. “You sign my check. That’s the only
autograph I need.”

“So you’re saying money’s all you need? I’ve learned from
experience money isn’t everything.”

“I guess having what you have, you wouldn’t understand what
it’s like to do without.”

“Without what? Money?” He stared off into space as he spoke.
“At times I’d gladly buy a real friend. Someone to talk to who doesn’t want
something from me in return. That doesn’t happen too often in this business.”
When he returned his gaze to hers, his eyes reflected a sadness that matched his
tone. “There’s all kinds of doing without, most of which has nothing to do with
money or sex.”

She pushed her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her
ears. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No offense taken,” he said. “I do choose to make a living this
way, good or bad. And to set the record straight, that girl
was
my cousin. She’s going to college here in Austin and dropped by
to introduce me to her boyfriend. I have her phone number if you want to call
and confirm it.”

For the life of her, Cammie didn’t understand why he even cared
what she thought. Better still, why would she choose to believe him? For some
reason, she did. “Fine. I’m sorry I assumed the worst.”

“Apology accepted.” An uneasy silence hung over them for a few
moments before he pointed to her cheek. “You have some grease right there.”

Her hand immediately swiped at the place he’d indicated. “Did I
get it?”

“No. You’re just making it worse.”

As Brett reached out and rubbed the smudge with a callused
thumb, Cammie tried to look away, but couldn’t. He’d somehow captured her total
attention with those incredible blue eyes and held her there like a captive
animal. Even after he’d dropped his hand, he continued to caress her with a look
as deliberate as his touch.

The sound of the opening door brought Cammie out of the
momentary stupor. “Thanks,” she muttered, and quickly put some much-needed
distance between them, as if they’d been doing something wrong.